


Midnight in Paris

by caixa



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2017 IIHF Ice Hockey World Championships, Age Difference, Alcohol, Developing Relationship, Dumb Hockey Boys, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Hotels, M/M, Mild Smut, Sexual Tension, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 13:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22950031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caixa/pseuds/caixa
Summary: Sebastian Aho is a 19-year-old hockey wunderkind with deep doe eyes and a dad who might just kill Savinainen if he heard what they're doing.
Relationships: Sebastian Aho/Veli-Matti Savinainen
Comments: 26
Kudos: 44





	1. Pigalle

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Minä suojelen sinua kaikelta](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15092933) by [caixa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caixa/pseuds/caixa). 

> This is a translation to English of my own work. I have modified it slightly, leaving out quotes of Finnish song lyrics that would not serve the same purpose translated, and breaking it to chapters from the original one-shot.
> 
> Hannah, thank you for the final nudge to do this. It was a fun story to revisit.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Paris, May 9th, 2017**

Veli-Matti Savinainen wants to decline the flyer that a young woman hands him near the Eiffel tower but since he can't remember a word of French he takes it.

He notices Sebastian Aho glancing at the paper, and then at Veli-Matti, with unabashed curiosity. His brown eyes are as attentive and vivid as ever, the pointy young face full of anticipation.

Veli-Matti would toss the flyer in a trashcan but they are sealed shut with tight screwed steel plates as a measure against bomb attacks. He doesn't want to drop it to the ground, either: he can't litter with all these _children_ around, can he?

It's a funny reaction, he has to admit: never ever would he have thought of himself as a role model, let alone a father figure. Who is he trying to kid here?

He crumples the paper in his fist and shoves it into his pocket.

It's an off-day in the tournament. The recent loss to the Czech Republic still stings a bit but since they started with two wins before it, Veli-Matti feels confident with the overall situation. There's no stopping them from enjoying sunshine and some sights. It's nice to play in a city with world famous tourist attractions, to see something else than ice rinks, gyms and the never ending dullness of hotel room walls.

There is a different feel to this particular _Leijonat_ team without the usual old friends to hang with, Jormakka and Komarov both at home. That's why Savinainen has stuck himself in the company of these juniors – what else should he call Aho, Rantanen or Puljujärvi? That's what they are, kids despite their NHL careers, each at least ten years younger than him.

Not that it matters on the ice. One part of the magic of playing a team sport is how it fills in the age gaps, turns the differences into strengths. Where one has bounce in their feet and endless energy, the other benefits from grit and experience.

Experience? What is it even? There are days when Veli-Matti is sure that these youngsters are a lot closer to being a total package when it comes to hockey. Their generation has been programmed and built to be pro athletes ever since they got out of their diapers: trained, coached, fed and maintained right to the detail, like delicate machines. They have been given every chance to grow into their profession on a direct paved path.

He, on the other hand, has got to the same point through winding detours and side steps, pushed around by the forces of trial and error, like a steel ball in a pinball machine.

Well, no matter what, steel is steel.

And here they are now, together under the Paris sun. Four teammates posing in front of the Arc de Triomphe, side by side, arms on shoulders. Sebastian curls his fingers against his back, Veli-Matti feels it through his jacket, surprised by how _nice_ it feels.

When the guys detach from the group pose, Sebastian lingers behind Veli-Matti's shoulder.

Vellu frames him in his selfie. He'll post in on his Instagram.

"Do you still have the flyer?" Sebastian asks hours later when they are finally approaching their hotel.

Veli-Matti casts him a confused look.

Sebastian's eyes are darted keenly at him. He puffs air from his nose as if to clear his nostrils.

"From the Eiffel tower," Sebastian says.

"Oh, that. Yeah, I guess." Veli-Matti digs his pockets.

"It had the subway line," Sebastian says. It is not a question: it is a suggestion, almost a demand.

Veli-Matti straightens out the crumpled ball of paper and nods. There is a small map with the number of the _Metro_ line and the name of the station printed next to it in the top right corner of the sheet.

A series of pictures takes up the most of the flyer. They are black and white photos, filtered to look like drawings: two women in thongs, hands on each other's bare breasts, and a different kind of Eiffel tower, two good-looking men, a woman on her knees between them, the angle showing the back of her head. There are two other pictures of the trio: in the last frame the men are leaning over the woman to kiss each other.

A diagonal banner screams LIVE SEX in hot pink letters on black background.

"It does have directions, you got that right," Veli-Matti looks at Sebastian from under his brows. "Interested?"

"Why not," Sebastian shrugs.

How did he twist it that way, like Veli-Matti had suggested going and Sebastian is just trailing along?

Veli-Matti takes another look at the map. Pigalle, Boulevard de Clichy, Moulin Rouge; a few blocks, a tight corner to a side street. Looks simple, at least on paper.

"We might as well go," he says.

"This is it."

The font and the shade of hot pink are the same as in the flyer, and there are colour prints of the same photos – sans the graphic filter – behind a glass both sides of the narrow doorway.

The door is not wide enough to let them in side by side. Sebastian looks so nervous entering the space that Veli-Matti touches the back of his hand for reassurance. Sebastian reacts to his hand by turning his own palm against his, grabbing a loose hold.

Okay then. Veli-Matti won't let go, it might embarrass the kid who is probably just acting out his nerves without any conscious thinking.

The cover that a large doorman/security guard charges at the entrance is a lot cheaper than Veli-Matti would have expected. The bar is nearly empty of customers, and not too many dancers are out either. The main stage, a long catwalk in the middle of the space, is unlit. There are two smaller stages closer to the back corners, round elevated platforms with a pole in the center; a skinny girl sways on one of them to some generic 1990's Euro ballad.

The colours of the decor are so stereotypical it hurts: red velvet curtains, a couple of pink neon hearts on the walls. Faded patterned seats, curving abstract florals, purple and nondescript used-to-be-gold on matte black, designed to hide stains.

Something feels off in the place but Veli-Matti can't put a finger on it. Maybe it's the lack of people, but on the other hand – it's early, these are always quiet hours.

Sebastian has let go of his hand when Veli-Matti has paid the cover at the door but now he flashes him a short smile. It's a nice mix of nervous, grateful and warm, so warm that Veli-Matti instinctively rubs Sebastian's shoulder as a friendly gesture. 

A waiter sees them to a table close to the other small stage. Another dancer climbs onto it soon, the first one gradually withdrawing to the curtains from her spotlight. The waiter takes their orders and Sebastian pays.

A man with a sizeable bulge in his tight white shorts climbs on the stage with the girl to play a squirming game of cat and mouse around the pole. The pants stay on through the short performance before the man disappears into the background, leaving the woman to dance alone.

A stale smell, pungent-but-sweet mix of urine and blue porta potty disinfectant, lingers in the cramped toilet. A lone fluorescent light flickers tiredly and Veli-Matti checks his reflection in its sickly glow, trying to get a stubborn strand of stray hair to the right side of the parting.

The bar feels a lot shadier than he would have expected. Veli-Matti thinks of suggesting Sebastian that they should leave. They'll have time to check other places on the way back to the Metro station if they want to, then it's best to head back to the team hotel to avoid getting in trouble.

Agitated voices echo around their table as soon as Veli-Matti steps outside the toilet. _Fuck_.

The large security guy from the door is holding Sebastian at an arm's length, palm against his chest.

”Give it back! Give my fucking wallet!" Sebastian shouts over the music and tries to reach for a wallet that their waiter is going through behind the doorman's wide shoulder. The girl who they saw dancing when they came in stands close by arms crossed, tapping the floor with the platform toe of her thigh-high stiletto heel boot.

Veli-Matti curses himself for not following his gut instinct and leading them out of the club as soon as he felt everything isn't right. This is the most basic scam of them all, demanding exaggerated sums of money for drinks for the girls or unsolicited and unperformed private dances, he's been around to watch them happen, fallen for them, learned to dodge the attempts – but apparently he still hasn't learned enough to see it coming when it counts. He has let his vain urge to show the world to his cute little superstar teammate get the better of him.

But where sensibility fails there are other means to resort to. Veli-Matti is an expert on one.

He crosses the room in brisk strides and sets himself between Sebastian and the other two men.

"Get out, Sepe," he says in Finnish, eyes on the doorman and the waiter. "Turn right, I'll follow you," he tells, waving his hand to the left. "Run!"

As Sepe sets off, Veli-Matti hits the sharp angle of his bony elbow into the side of the doorman's meaty head: the first hit meets his jawline, the second his cheek, the last is sure to make his eardrums ring.

"Go go!" he shouts at Sepe who looks over his shoulder as he runs. Looking will only slow the kid down, and besides, it’s safer if he doesn’t witness anything with his own eyes. If this leads to trouble, it’s easier the less they need to lie.

Before the doorman gets over his surprise Veli-Matti kicks his knee hard into his groin, and the big man folds over forward from the pain. It gives Veli-Matti time to sling his right fist into the nose of the waiter, arm gaining force from the movement of his turning body.

He wraps his left hand around the waiter's wrist, twists and squeezes. The fingers lose their grip of Sebastian's wallet. It falls in Veli-Matti's awaiting hand, he grabs it and runs.

The knuckles of Veli-Matti's right hand prickle and ache and he switches the wallet to his left hand while running. It's been a while since he last hit someone so hard and straight on the bone. He can still hear the crunching sound of the waiter's nose, see how it started bleeding.

The air flow cools his sore hand. Veli-Matti doesn't look back; he hears footsteps following him to the door but not out on the pavement. It seems that the club doesn't want to draw any extra attention.

Veli-Matti's eyes catch Sebastian. He's running a block and a half ahead in springy steps, glances back only when he reaches the corner of the next street. He eases his running to light jogging and disappears around the corner. 

Smart kid.

"Hey."

The greeting is a quiet huff. Sebastian has withdrawn to an empty doorway off the pavement, about halfway of the first block of the side street. He stands there hands on his hips, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, shaking his legs lightly to loosen them after the run. He stands so close to the wall that Veli-Matti would have gone by without noticing him if he hadn't said anything.

Veli-Matti slows down and walks the last few steps slowly, stops in front of Sebastian and crouches forward to lean to his knees, catching his breath.

"Are you that out of shape?" Sebastian grins like he wasn’t still breathing hard himself. Veli-Matti glares up at him from under his brows, shakes his head and extends his hand to give Sebastian his wallet. 

"Thank you," Sebastian says and touches his shoulder, "And sorry."

Veli-Matti straightens up taking support of Sebastian's shoulder and takes a couple of deep breaths.

"You're welcome."

Sebastian nods and puts the wallet in his pocket. Suddenly he cups Veli-Matti's shoulders and pulls him into a tight hug.

"You're fucking crazy," he whispers in his ear. "But thank you."

Veli-Matti hugs him back.

"Why do you say I'm crazy?" he asks with a smirk and blows at his reddened knuckles.

”You should've just left the money. Isn't that the usual advice. But you just beat up that big guy."

”Sometimes you gotta beat up big guys. I had to save a prince in distress."

Sebastian sways on his heels and chuckles.

"Good one."

Veli-Matti shakes his hand in the air and blows at his knuckles again, and now Sebastian pays attention to his move.

"Did you hurt it?" he asks and looks at the hand.

"It's nothing. Had to use it a bit, that's all."

"Show me." Sebastian takes the hand in his to study it closer. He lifts his gaze to Veli-Matti's eyes. "You hit him some more."

A heated rush rises inside Veli-Matti. He's still so full of adrenaline from the fight and the tight escape that the light touch of Sebastian holding his hand makes everything flutter and fizz.

”It's okay," he says in a low, husky voice, talking feels suddenly thick and weighty. He has to lighten it up with a chuckle. "Nice little smooch."

It's not the clearest choice of words. Veli-Matti meant his hit but Sebastian reads it differently. He lifts the fist cautiously to his lips, presses a feather light kiss on the knuckles and looks at Veli-Matti with his deep brown eyes.

"Better?" Sebastian asks and bites his lip a hint of a smile rippling on the corner of his mouth, shy but challenging. He's still holding Veli-Matti's hand up between them and looks at him over it, the focus of his gaze shifting restlessly from eye to eye.

Veli-Matti's heart throbs on his neck and he doesn't know what he feels. It has been a weird night: the unresolved sexual anticipation of the sex show that never happened, the adrenaline rush, and now, on top of the suspense and action, those doe eyes darted at him, all the hormones he can picture raging under the flawless teenager skin. The look in those same doe eyes was just as nervous and curious earlier in the day, looking from the map to him and back. 

_Better_?

Hardly.

Veli-Matti doesn't know what instinct gives him the balls to the next move but does he ever think too much on the ice either, he'll no, barging in headfirst has taken him this far in life and he isn’t planning to change. When his gut says "Go!" he'll fucking _go_.

He opens his fist enough to wrap his fingers around the fingers holding it, grabs the warm hand. He pushes it to the side from between their bodies, places his hand on Sebastian's back, pulls him close, finds his lips with his own and kisses him.

Sebastian makes a little noise into his mouth but doesn't struggle back; he melts pliantly into his arms, soft and relaxed but vividly following his every move like he was a living vine, full of pure desire to please him. Sebastian's hand rises to the back of his neck, slippery soft tongue licks its way inside his mouth, moves against his own.

How can he be so - _lovely_? Soft, fluid and passionate in the sweetest way?

Sebastian wraps his fingers around Veli-Matti’s hand and guides it to his waist, his other hand caressing the back of his head as if to ensure he stays close.

Veli-Matti squeezes the muscles of Sebastian's back through his shirt and slides his other hand up and down his side, pulling his body snug against his own. He feels Sebastian's legs inch closer, his body swaying pressed to his own, the mouth exploring his, warm and wet like it had a life on its own. Veli-Matti cracks his eyes open; Sebastian’s are closed, his eyelids and lashes flutter.

Flawless, beautiful and so close. So fucking close. Veli-Matti feels very inch where their bodies are pressed together.

Divine kid, fuck, if you keep grinding your sweetly rocking body like that there's no brain in the world to keep this sane anymore.

Sebastian clings to him with both arms tight around his neck, stretching high enough to lift the hem of his shirt to the level of the waistband of his jeans. Veli-Matti slides his hands down Sebastian's sides and up again, and they glide onto the bare skin under the shirt. Sebastian whimpers a sweet hitched moan straight into his mouth at the touch and presses his body against him even tighter.

Veli-Matti breaks his lips just barely away from the kiss, he needs to get some air through his mouth. He feels Sebastian's breath on his skin, a faint waft of beer, the same rhythm of breath on the skin under his fingers, the arms around his neck pure withheld energy, the strong forearms pressing on the nape of his neck.

The whispered words escape his lips on their own accord.

"Fuck you're hot. What I'd give to bone you."

_What the he'll did I just let out of my mouth? Fuck, you can't say that to a teammate_.

Sebastian doesn't answer which is a relief. And doesn't pull back, another relief. Maybe it's a sign that he didn't hear it. Yeah, Veli-Matti will definitely treat it that way.

He lets his hands slide down from under the shirt, over the jeans, on the hips, fingertips just on the upper curve of Sebastian’s buttocks. He'd love to move them further, inch them into the back pockets, slide them all the way to the backseam, feel up the round ass with his whole hand - but no. Not now. He needs to calm it down, take it easy.

Sebastian's lips search for him again, nibbling the edges of his lips. Veli-Matti steals another look at him, the closed eyes, the black barely-there dots of shaven mustache above the upper lip, downy fuzz of baby hair on the temples. Light pink blush tints the cheeks and earlobes.

Maybe it doesn't mean he heard it.

"Game day tomorrow." They say it in jumbled unison and laugh at the coincidence.

Sebastian digs out his phone to search for a way to get to the underground station - either the one they came in from or the next one - without passing the club.

The moment could be a bit awkward but there's more friendly camaraderie in the air. They straighten their hair and clothes, shake and stretch their limbs the way that that is universal to all athletes, to subconsciously balance the body to feel _right_.

The detour turns their return into slow strolling on streets that are like out of a romantic movie: picturesque stone houses with wooden window shutters, balconies with curved wrought iron railings, blooming trees on the pavement, classic street lamps.

Sebastian pulls his sleeves over his hands and tenses his shoulders up to his ears but shivers in the chill that’s settling in the air for the night. Veli-Matti wraps his jacket around the boy's shoulders, rubs his back through it and pulls him under his arm, and Sebastian snuggles to his side like he wanted to wrap Veli-Matti around himself like a blanket.

They kiss one more time, under the art deco _Metropolitain_ sign before diving into the stairs leading underground. On the pavement, in the middle of the buzz of busy Parisians walking by, perhaps because it just feels so much like a _Paris_ thing to do, only a few Metro stations away from reality. 


	2. Hotel

**Paris, May 11th, 2017**

Everybody talks about Tyson Barrie at the breakfast table. There have been rumours about a Canadian player being out with injury but Mikko has new information that he’s reading aloud on his phone – or trying to.

“What was it?” Sebastian asks when Rantanen stops his reading the third time from laughing so hard.

“He has wrestled with somebody in his – in his hotel room! With a te-teammate. End of his who-whole tournament!” Mikko laughs. ”Lower body injury, they say. God. Must be his groin.”

”Hell no. What a mess,” Jesse Puljujärvi giggles. “Who’s his roommate?”

“I don’t know,” Mikko says and starts to type a message on his phone. “I’ll have to ask.” He finishes his question and sends it to his injured teammate from Colorado Avalanche.

He gets no answer by the end of the breakfast. Either Barrie is too embarrassed to reply, or then the information would be too valuable at the hands of a future opponent. Finland is still to face Canada.

”What the hell are they doing there,” Veli-Matti shakes his head while scraping his teeth with a toothpick, leaning back in his hair. “Imagine we started wrestling in here.”

“Imagine we didn’t,” Jesse replies. ”It doesn’t look like it has any good consequences. Let the other teams do it, give us a little handicap.”

”Pulju, you are so much above the weight class of your roommate anyway,” Sebastian says. “I know I wouldn’t wrestle Rantanen.” He nudges Veli-Matti’s foot with his toes and looks at him over the table. “We’d be a much better match in size.”

Veli-Matti presses back with his foot.

“I’m too old for you, little boy.”

“Do you mean I’d be knocked out as soon as the old champ gets in the ring?”

“You’re getting the sports mixed now.”

“You need to educate me.”

“Knockout is a boxing term. Ring is for boxing too.”

”Well, that’s what you’re good at.”

”Among other things,” Veli-Matti says and wiggles his eyebrows.

Sebastian smiles, purses his lips as if to hold back a laugh and draws his feet under his chair.

They aren’t touching but the game is on, and it sizzles under Veli-Matti’s skin.

It may be a bit dangerous, the way Sebastian’s flirting makes Veli-Matti buzz for more. He remembers suddenly that Sebastian has played a few games on rental for Ässät and gets lost for a moment of daydreaming. What if… until he realizes that damn, it was two years ago. He wasn’t even in Finland back then, he was either in Leksand or Nizhny Novgorod, and Sebastian was a fucking _child_, seventeen.

Two years ago. He isn’t much older now.

Is it a reason to be worried?

_U sleeping?_

The message lights up the screen of Veli-Matti’s phone silently but he notices it immediately in his dark hotel room due to the change in lighting.

_Almost,_ he replies, even though it is an exaggeration.

_I can’t sleep_

Veli-Matti hears the sound of a door opening and closing in the corridor a room or two down. The screen lights up at the same time, showing him the next message.

_Come out to the hallway?_

Veli-Matti doesn’t want to wake up his roommate. He slips out of the bed as cautiously as a thief and uses the light of the phone screen to find a pair of shorts from the floor. He won’t bother to try and find a shirt.

Sebastian sits on the bottom of a luggage cart by the wall of the hallway, dressed in a white Warrior T-shirt and boxer shorts. When Veli-Matti strolls to his side, he extends his hand and tugs lightly at the leg of his shorts.

“Sit,” he says. Vellu sits down, right next to him because there is no room in the cart for much of a gap. Should he have opted for the floor?

He instinctively brushes Sebastian’s hair with his fingers. Messy brown strands hang over his cheek, it’s rare to see the boy around without a beanie or a cap keeping his hair in place.

“What’s up, Sepe?” he asks.

Sebastian leans his chin to joined hands, face tilted towards Veli-Matti, and looks at him closely.

“I’ve been thinking,” Sebastian starts. He looks down at his feet as if to gather his thoughts and lifts his gaze back to Veli-Matti. “Did you mean it?” He pauses again, detaches his hands from each other and, almost accidentally but not quite, draws his little finger along Veli-Matti’s arm. “When you said you’d want to fuck me.”

The straightforwardness of the question comes out of the blue. Not that Veli-Matti wouldn’t have thought of it. Unwillingly, mostly: Sebastian invades his mind in idle moments, his eyes wander to him when they are in the same room. Only on the ice will the thoughts keep away.

“Well, you know,” he starts to buy a little time. He chuckles but stifles it down, Sebastian must not feel he’s being laughed at. “I can’t imagine anybody who wouldn’t want you. But I can’t.”

A shadow breezes over Sebastian’s vivid face.

“You can’t,” he repeats.

Veli-Matti takes a deep breath and brushes Sebastian’s arm with a finger as a sign of reassurance and bonding.

“That whole night, you know… I should never have taken you there. I’ll be fucked if the suits find out. You, the way you are –” he moves his hand to Sebastian’s hair, pets it with his hand – “Your whole generation is so clean and pure. _Everybody _wants you to be cute and nice. And – just, everything. You’re only nineteen. And you’re _Sebastian Aho_. Your father would kill me if he knew. I don’t want Harri Aho to send half of Finland out for my head.”

Sebastian lets out a soft laugh and butts his head lightly against his palm, almost like a cat. How great that he wasn’t offended, Veli-Matti loves his sense of humor.

“You won’t even play in Finland next season!” he answers and elbows Veli-Matti’s arm.

“You see?” Veli-Matti elbows him back. ”You don’t even deny that he’d kill me.”

Sebastian chuckles. “He wouldn’t kill you.” He looks at his feet but then, intently and sternly, in Veli-Matti’s eyes.

“And he doesn’t have to know.”

Well then. The silence around them is deep and thick, like the air was suddenly solid matter that makes difficult to even open one’s mouth, let alone speak.

“How wouldn’t he find out?” he asks after a pause, is his voice lower and raspier than usual or does it just feel that way in his throat? “Hello, half of our squad is from Kärpät.”

“I’m not planning to tell them.” Sebastian’s finger has started to draw lines on his upper arm, it takes a while for him to realize that it follows the lines of his tattoos, and when he realizes it, it feels strangely intimate, almost intrusive. “Or anyone,” Sebastian adds.

Sebastian presses his face on his shoulder, nuzzles it, presses a kiss on his skin.

”What if you are all I have been thinking about since that night,” Sebastian mumbles into his skin, almost whispering. “What if I remember how it felt and can’t stop thinking how it would have felt if you had pinned my wrists to that stone wall. What if I can’t sleep because I can’t stop wanting it.”

Sweet fuck, this is too much. Veli-Matti has to bite the inside of his cheek as painfully as he can to keep himself from following his first instinct that would be to tilt Sebastian’s chin up with his fingertips and kiss him rough and hard, push him down on the carpeted bottom of the cart, rip his pants off.

He tilts Sebastian’s chin with his fingertips but turns it away from himself, towards the ceiling. He points at a shiny metallic hemisphere between the lamps.

“They have security cameras here. The concierge or some security guy is watching us all the time.”

Sebastian turns his face slowly back at him and grins. “Okay,” he says and stands up in calm moves. “Come.”

Further in the hallway on their floor there is a small conference room. It is reserved to them for the time they’ll play in Paris, for video and strategy meetings, but there is also a PlayStation attached to the television.

Sebastian tries the door: it is open.

The next moment it is shut, a chair securing the doorknob like anybody would wander in this time of the night. Veli-Matti pins Sebastian to the wall, kisses him hard, pushes his upper lip up with his tongue to force the mouth open wider. Sebastian answers the kiss, completely wet and wanton, like he had waited for this for days.

Sebastian rubs the front of his shorts and pants into his mouth, _I fucking love how hard you are_, until Veli-Matti crushes his hips so tight into Sebastian that the kid can _really_ feel how hard he is, no hand needed in the middle there, _So are you, so you say you can’t sleep because you are so fucking horny, tell me what you need in that slutty ass,_ and Sebastian’s answer is a high-pitched moan but he presses his mouth on Vellu’s shoulder to shut it, bites and sucks it to stifle the next moans to measly whimpers.

And when Veli-Matti turns him around, tears his pants down and fucks him against the wall, they both have to have a hunch that the first time won’t be the last. 


	3. Not a Word

**Paris, May 14th, 2017**

Mikko Rantanen comes out of the toilet cursing like a sailor. He lifts up his toothbrush and stares at Sebastian with a scolding look.

His other hand is holding a plastic tube of lube, and the clear gel on his toothbrush is - well, most likely not toothpaste.

"Fuck you, Sepe! What the hell have you been up to?"

Sebastian can't hold back a burst of giggles, but neither can he keep from blushing.

He had to buy it, spit and sheer lust went a long way on the first time but the next day - uh, he didn't bleed or anything but it took some healing before he could sit comfortably.

They played a matinee game against Norway on Saturday, and after a hard ground win the team went out together. After that the squad split, one group heading to some tourist attraction, the others to a bar, but he and Vellu just split, almost running back to the hotel, his and Mikko' s room, his bed.

That was where Sebastian got nervous, what if Rantanen walks in on them, and Veli-Matti cut his hesitation short, took him to the bathroom and locked the door, lifted him on the countertop. Jesus it was hot, the man wasn't much bigger than him but manhandled him however he likes.

Sebastian couldn't lie down on his back, the vanity counter wasn't wide enough; he was bent in a ball, legs up, twofold against the wall to wall mirror. But still, or just because of it. What a fuck, one of the best. _Ever_. The sound alone - had a taut flat plane of lean hips ever spanked his buttocks that fast and hard? A hand on his dick, mouth on his mouth, his release was a fast, surging power shot.

Sebastian blushes as the memory throbs in his brain, and giggles a husky little laugh at Rantanen's fuming face.

Mikko glares at him, then at his toothbrush, and dumps it in the trashcan with a grand gesture.

"Couldn't you just have rinsed it?" Sebastian asks.

Mikko struts past his bed to rummage through his bag and tosses the lube on Sebastian's bed along with an accusatory look.

"Fuck you, Sepe."

When Mikko (he actually _has_ a spare toothbrush, is it even possible for someone to be _that_ tidy?) slouches on his bed after brushing his teeth, Sebastian knows he'll get some questions. That's why he keeps his eyes especially strictly on the game he's playing on his phone.

Mikko throws a decorative cushion at him.

"Spill the tea, skank," he says. "Who are you doing this time?"

That was a low blow to start with.

"Come on, Mikko. Give me a break.”

Mikko leans over the gap between the beds, picks up the cushion and tucks it behind his neck.

"You don't have to tell me. I thought you went to the river boat but then I heard who else wasn't on board."

Sebastian bites his teeth together to steel himself from flinching. He uses a few seconds to assess whether Mikko is bluffing or not, is it better to just deny everything out loud, but he decides to stay silent.

"And come on, you can totally see it anyway. In both of you," Mikko continues mercilessly. "Oh!" he perks up, takes his phone and sits up on the edge of his bed. His eyes scan Sebastian's bed until he spots the lube and darts the camera of his phone at it. The autofocus light flickers, the electric shutter sound makes a soft click, and Mikko looks satisfied and smiles at his phone. "Thanks for not putting it away, Sepe. We made a bet with Pulju. I'm winning."

Sebastian's cheeks have cooled down but he feels he's blushing again and takes the tube, hiding it in the drawer of his nightstand. Damn, too late.

"Fucking gossiping bitches," he huffs.

"Sepe, Sepe," Mikko says and taps at his phone. Sebastian sits up, takes the device off Mikko's hands with an annoyed tug and looks him in the eye.

"Who have you talked to?" he asks in a lowered voice.

Mikko tilts his head and glares back at him. "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Mikko, for real. Please."

Mikko sighs and gives in. "We've just been shooting crap together, Jesse and me."

Sebastian nods, not completely assured but a little relieved. "Please don't spread it. Okay? I don't want Kukkonen to know."

Lasse Kukkonen is their captain here but back home he's the captain of Kärpät and works closer to Sebastian's father than he feels comfortable with right now.

Mikko gives him a shit-eating grin. "Aww. You don't want Lasse to get jealous? 

Sebastian frowns. "For fuck's sake, Mikko. No! I just don't want him to tell dad."

"Wouldn't the captain keep it within the team?”

Sebastian gives Mikko a tired deadpan look and raises his eyebrows slightly.

”I see”, Mikko says, takes his phone back from Sebastian's hand and leans back to his pillows. "Oulu is Oulu."


	4. Another hotel

**Cologne, May 17th, 2017**

Maybe he should worry more. But the truth is, Veli-Matti doesn’t feel too concerned after Sebastian tells him about his little chat with Mikko Rantanen.

So far it has had only positive consequences. The trouble with him and Sebastian getting some time together has been that either there are so many games and practices that they don’t have the energy for anything else and when they do, there is no opportunity, but after being let in on the secret Mikko has been only happy to spend his time somewhere else than the shared hotel room, leaving it for their use. Like right now: he’s touring the city of Cologne with Jesse almost as soon as their train arrived there from Paris.

Veli-Matti won’t even ask if Sebastian has bribed his roommate to stay away. What matters is that they get to break in the new hotel _their_ way.

Which means that they are in bed, Sebastian by his side, reddened face pressed half to the pillow, half to his upper arm, ass up, two of Veli-Matti’s fingers deep inside. Veli-Matti’s bicep is wet with spit, Sebastian sucked and bit it just a moment ago (he has bruises in the most peculiar places imaginable these days, he doubts anyone will recognize them as hickeys) but has now settled to panting and moaning from his open mouth.

Veli-Matti leans in to lick Sebastian’s ear, nibbles his earlobe, plays with it with his tongue, pushes his fingers into his ass down to the knuckle, twisting and curling them. Sebastian’s thighs tremble, he presses his open mouth on Veli-Matti’s skin, growls and hisses muffled noises.

Maybe that’s a part of the reason he just can’t bother to be worried. Because all of this is so fucking amazing.

Sebastian is their best player and everyone with a working pair of eyes will agree that he is cute as hell. On top of that, he’s really nice, great company to hang out with to anyone, and then this. So smoking hot, an incredible beast in bed.

“Oh. _Oh_. OH. Your fingers.” Sebastian mumbles disjointed words, turns his face towards him, searches his mouth. The kiss is messy fumbling around the area of his lips, sweaty brown strands get glued to his shoulder, then his face. “Vellu, _oh_, _that,_ _yes,_ keep that, bro, I, I _love_ it, _please…_” his words dissolve into quiet moaning.

It’s such a pleasure to play with Sebastian’s body. He’s enthusiastic and easily pleased, eager to touch and be touched, loves everything Veli-Matti does to him, reacts loudly and gives back generously.

”Let me suck your dick,” he whispers, turns to face Veli-Matti and nibbles his jawline, not really stopping to wait for an answer. He doesn’t need to wait, there’s no way Veli-Matti would _not_ let him, and the slick wet tongue is already trailing down his stomach.

To be very honest, at moments like this Veli-Matti doesn’t even mind the thought of someone knowing about them. It’s rather like… he would never admit it out loud, but in secrecy, he would feel - kind of fucking _proud_, actually.


	5. Bar

**Cologne, Thursday May 18th, 2017**

On to the semi-finals! USA had nothing on them, _nothing_.

Exhilarated taps on the goaltender’s helmet. Säteri deserves them after his glorious shutout.

Hugs in the locker room. Veli-Matti pulls Sebastian in a headlock, presses a kiss on his temple.

It can’t be too much, not now, when the PP works it _works_. Sepe’s pass was perfect, once again, all Veli-Matti needed to do was to direct it towards Rantanen because he knew Rane would do his thing. When the goalie’s pad deflected the first sweep, Mikko got the puck over it from the rebound with a nice little chip, and the game was wide open, it was theirs.

Sebastian doesn't kiss him back but his eyes gleam like he wants to; he hugs him tight, shouts incoherent exclaims of joy into his ear.

”Okay, you can go and grab a cold one, guys. One, you hear? It's Sweden we’ll need to take on Saturday.”

It's okay to be on a tight leash. They aren't here to party and, after two weeks, who'd even have the energy to stay up long into the night. The point is to just to relax and enjoy the moment, kick back if only for an hour, then put the win and the celebration behind, focus on what's ahead.

German beer is strong and the glasses tall, you'll get a nice enough buzz from one especially when you're drained dry after the game, and after the first ones their chaperone for the night loosens the leash and says okay, one more round but then it's bedtime.

The banter around the table sinks into new lows each time someone one-ups (or one-downs) the dumbest joke his teammate can think of with a more low-brow example.

"Yes, but do you know this: how do you say "I love you" in Tampere?" Veli-Matti wants to display the linguistic wonders he's learned in his two Tappara years. "Wanna come fuck in Hervanta?" He breaks in laughter after his own joke.

"Shouldn't you rather learn it in Oulu dialect?" Jesse cuts in.

Sebastian jumps on Jesse's nonchalant remark.

"Do you know what it is?" he asks, looking at Veli-Matti.

“Tell me,” Veli-Matti says, eyes in his.

Sebastian makes an obscene gesture mimicking a blowjob and giggles.

“That’s what you’re good at,” Veli-Matti winks.

”We all need a skill.”

Veli-Matti smirks, leans back in his chair, hands relaxed on the armrests, tries to keep a straight face but damn he’s enjoying himself. He knows he should never float too high but he lives too much in the moment to hold back his emotions. It’s just one of those nights when everything seems to be within reach, like he was – invincible.

Everything just feeds his hubris, fits together so perfectly. The second consecutive Liiga championship with Tappara, lifting the trophy in front of a cheering crowd, straight to Team Finland from there, and even though they haven’t always been on the winning side, today they totally were. He has a KHL deal in his back pocket for the next season, a good sum of Russian and Chinese money coming his way, a nicely relaxing dose of alcohol buzzing in his brain, and one of the best young hockey players in the world flirts with him with such intensity that anyone listening on the side is sure to think _Man, those two totally fuck_.

Back at the hotel Sebastian does not want to fuck. They make out in the stairway (Veli-Matti has guided them there when he notices that the elevator is full and leaving upstairs without them) but before Veli-Matti can suggest anything more, Sebastian pulls back and yawns.

“Sorry,” Sebastian says. “It’s Sweden the day after tomorrow.” He grabs Veli-Matti’s wrist to glance at his watch – he doesn’t wear one himself. “Or looks like it’s tomorrow.”

Veli-Matti cups his cheek, strokes it with his thumb. “Is my little prince getting sleepy?”

Another yawn escapes Sebastian’s mouth and he chuckles tiredly. “I guess I am.”

Sebastian looks tired and he doesn’t even try to hide it or pretend to please him. He’s so delicate and soft when he’s so candid and sincere, perfectly open and vulnerable.

He yawns again, chuckles eyes closed like acknowledging his helplessness in face of the reflex taking over him and Veli-Matti can’t help thinking about a small baby laughing in its sleep.

For that moment he feels such overwhelming tenderness that his heart might burst inside the cage of tightening chest.


	6. Kölner Dom

**Cologne, May 21st, 2017**

Sebastian stands on the side of the hotel lobby with an empty face. He has drained his last drops of energy into the series of meaningless motions, some of which are routine after any loss, some specific to big ones like this.

Handshake line, listening to the Russian national anthem and seeing their opponents get their bronze medals; reluctantly giving disappointed, sluggish post-game comments; getting out of game gear, getting on his suit, chewing down an unmemorable dinner.

All he has left is a creeping motionless chill in his sore muscles, hollow, aimless frustration. It makes waves inside him like cold water, and like cold water, it stiffens his limbs, eats away all energy to move.

”Huh?” he flinches, not sharply but slowly lifting his heavy head. Kukkonen said something, maybe a while ago but he didn’t catch it, and when he didn’t catch it, didn’t listen, hear, whatever, he registered it with delay. His whole being is uncharacteristically lagging, so unlike his usual alert, quickly reacting self.

Veli-Matti steps next to him.

“We’ll leave half an hour earlier to the airport in the morning, that’s all he said.” He touches Sebastian’s shoulder in passing and Sebastian is glad that the touch is quick and short. If the familiar warmth and weight rested there for any longer, it would melt some of the frozen chill inside him, make it move. It would well up as tears in his eyes, not that they are that far to begin with.

Sebastian glances blindly around himself, can’t decide where to head from here, are they going somewhere together as a group or back into their own rooms. The soles of his feet ache, the suit jacket bugs him, something itches under the collar of his dress shirt. He never really notices those kind of little irritations but he suffers from some kind of sensory overload now.

Maybe things clear in a minute and someone will come and tell him where to go. He slouches down in an armchair to wait.

“Sepe.”

Sebastian opens his eyes that he doesn’t remember shutting. The cushions of his chair tilt as Veli-Matti backs his butt against the armrest, leans to it arms crossed on his chest. The light green eyes look at him gently from under the blond brows.

Sebastian leans back in the chair, lets his head hang over the backrest, stares at the ceiling.

”Fuck this shit,” he says. “You try and try but… end up empty handed.”

He spreads his empty hands to emphasize his words. “All of this… and all of us.” His eyes wander from guy to guy, over the teammates standing here and there in the lobby, hanging out in small, quietly talking groups. “The guys, everyone just goes their way. ‘Cos we got nothing to…” he’s about to say _get together for_ but he has lost the energy to finish his sentence.

Veli-Matti seems to understand anyway. Win, if not championship, even a medal, even bronze, would make the public remember them in the future, unify them, bring them together for celebrations back in Finland. _Look, it’s them! The squad! Yes, we are them, we really are._

Sebastian goes on. ”And you,” he says and looks at Veli-Matti with anguished eyes. “Two weeks. We have –“ Sebastian purses his lips into a mix of a pout and pained grimace – “Well, everything. And I don’t even know if you fucking _snore_ or not.”

Veli-Matti’s eyes narrow like he was stabbed with a knife. He clutches Sebastian’s shoulder, the grip squeezing so hard Sebastian feels his fingers sink into his flesh through the suit, and for a moment it looks like he wanted to bury his face in Sebastian’s hair.

He doesn’t, but as he takes his hand off Sebastian’s shoulder he ruffles his hair. He clears his throat but his voice is coarse when he answers him.

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t know it either. I’ve always been asleep.”

Sebastian chuckles at it almost reluctantly. He’s too sad to laugh for real but he loves Veli-Matti’s sense of humor, loves it so much.

“Wait a minute. Don’t go anywhere,” Veli-Matti says, gets up from the armrest and walks to the reception.

”Do you have any free rooms?” he asks. “For two.”

The receptionist looks at her computer, typing something and clicking at the mouse.

“There is one double but it’s in a separate building. It is more of a summer room – we don’t normally use it before June. There’s one bed, no heating.” He looks at Veli-Matti over her eyeglasses. ”I can show it to you if you want to see it.”

Veli-Matti smiles. “No need. We’ll take it. I’m sure it’s warm enough.”

The lady beckons them to follow her to the backdoor and guides them through the courtyard. On the other side of the block the hotel merges into an old stone building. In the middle of it there is a portal to the street, and over it, a tower raises over the roof of the rest of the building. On one side of the tower there is an old clock face with Roman numerals, and above the clock face a couple of windows.

”The room is up there”, she tells.

She opens a door next to the gateway. It leads to stairs that wind up on the inside of the tower. The door to the room is made of wood, it is wide but not too high, and the lady opens it with an old iron key.

The room is furnished with a couple of padded antique chairs and a big wooden cabinet but the main piece of furniture is a majestic canopy bed, decorated with pompous wood carvings. On the opposite wall from the door a deep window nook is padded into a wide soft seat. The paned window is made of old, uneven glass, overlooking city lights and the silhouette of the old cathedral.

”Perfect,” Veli-Matti smiles.

After the receptionist leaves he draws Sebastian into an embrace, rocks him softly, kisses him slowly. Sebastian drinks the kiss like water he needs to survive, sniffles when it ends. Veli-Matti brushes Sebastian’s temples with his hand and feels moist drops on the outer corner of his eyes and it twinges him, he can endure a lot but it’s hard to handle the thought of Sebastian hurting like this.

”If you need any stuff from your room for the night, would you go and get it now,” he whispers. “Toothbrush if you want. Clothes for the morning. You won’t need any for the night.”

The room is empty when Sebastian returns. Veli-Matti comes back a moment later, still in his suit pants, shirt and tie, a backpack and a plastic shopping tote from a supermarket with him.

He loads the small coffee table between the chairs with a couple of bottles and colourful plastic bags.

“Want to get drunk or OD on German candy?”

Sebastian grins. ”Both.”

”That’s my boy. Excellent choice.”

There is a knock on the door.

“Oh, there’s some more,” Veli-Matti says and goes to open the door. He hands cash through the crack and takes hold of a tray with a bottle of tequila, a salt shaker and a plate full of sliced lime.

“I figured body shots might be your thing.”

“Salt in the wounds?” Sebastian giggles.

”Something like that,” Veli-Matti answers, steps closer and kisses him. “I’m a great band-aid.”

He takes a lime slice from the tray and sticks it between Sebastian’s teeth without asking. He won’t take his eyes off him as he unbuttons Sebastian’s shirt, pulls it down and lets it drop on the floor, sprinkles salt on the crook of his neck and shoulder and slowly licks it up in his mouth.

Sebastian passes out hours later, in the middle of a hysteric giggle of a post-coital high, just as gooey and sticky with salt, sugar and whatnot as the crumpled linen sheets of the antique canopy bed.

He wakes up in the small hours of the morning in the need to throw up and can barely find his way to the bathroom to vomit.

He can’t hear the steps, the sounds inside his head and stomach are too much of a distraction to his distorted senses, but when he lifts his head, a stern, cool hand strokes it, landing on his forehead, brushing his hair back.

Sebastian gets down from is knees, sits on the fluffy bath mat.

“Oh, dear poor baby. I’m so sorry.” Veli-Matti’s voice is groggy from sleep. He wipes Sebastian’s mouth with a Kleenex and hands him a glass of water. “Don’t get up. Rinse your mouth and spit there,” he nods at the toilet seat.

Sebastian rinses his mouth a few times and leans to Veli-Matti’s arm because it is there and a lot better option than trying to sit up on his own, and looks at him with burning eyes.

“No worries. It’s not your fault.”

”I got you drunk. It’s totally my fault that you’re in that condition. Fuck, I should have limited it.”

Sebastian gives him a tired smile and looks him in the eye, long and slow. “I drank every damn drop myself. Wasn’t that the point, to get wasted.”

Veli-Matti asks him to wait, disappears to the room and comes back with a bottle of Gatorade in each hand.

“Cold or room temperature? This one was in the fridge,” he lifts each in turn.

Sebastian chuckles. ”Cold, please,” he says and takes the bottle.

”Advil?” Veli-Matti offers a painkiller tablet. Sebastian shakes his head and keeps sipping his drink.

Veli-Matti puts the medicine on the lip of the sink and sits down on the floor to massage Sebastian’s back.

”You looked so sad. I just wanted to cut it off.”

Sebastian nods softly and presses back to the rubbing hand. “I know you did. It just sucks. This whole fucking spring.” He doesn’t want to go on to elaborate, the hopeless end of the NHL season is not so far back that it wouldn’t sting to think about it, and all the hopelessness of the weekend on top of it.

“You have to learn to lose,” Veli-Matti says.

”Look who’s talking. You’re known for being the most gracious loser in Finland. What if I don’t want to?”

Veli-Matti strokes his hair in silence. He doesn’t have to answer, he has felt that way too, many times.

”Nobody wants to,” he says eventually. “And it doesn’t mean it won’t ever suck again. It will never stop hurting to lose. But you’ll learn that it will pass. There’s always the next game. If you can win, you know it from that. You can’t float on wins forever, either. There’s always the next game. If you float, the next game hits you sooner than you’re prepared for. Like a freight train.”

Sebastian smirks at the image. The Gatorade bottle is getting empty and he doesn’t feel that nauseous anymore. There are probably more comfortable places in the room than the bathroom floor.

Veli-Matti pulls Sebastian on his arms on the soft window seat and buries his face in his hair. The view over the sleeping city is dotted by lights, the towers of the cathedral glow lit against the night sky. 

”I will miss you,” he says.

“We’ll see in the summer,” Sebastian answers.

Veli-Matti shakes his head.

“Finland is a small country but it’s bigger than you expect. The summer goes by faster than you know. I’d love to meet up but I totally get it if we can’t make it. And when the fall comes – well, you know.”

”Maybe we can get called to the Worlds next year again.”

Veli-Matti widens his eyes. “Better not!” he huffs and brushes Sebastian’s hair with his cheek. “I want you to be busy with the NHL playoffs this time of the spring. Every fucking year at least until I retire from hockey.”

“Oh God. I need to hurry, then.”

Veli-Matti nudges his elbow with a fist and pouts. “Am I _that_ old?”

”You’re older than me.”

”Does it bother you?”

Sebastian tilts his face up and kisses his chin. ”Not at all,” he smiles. ”I can’t really tell it from anything.”

”And I thought I could be the old and wise one.”

”You think a lot of things, Vellu.”

Veli-Matti sighs. ”Damn you punk. You won’t take it easy on me.”

”Should I?”

”Maybe not. It’s nice to have a little competition.”

”A little, huh?”

”Pretty little.”

Veli-Matti laces their fingers together, arms crossed over Sebastian’s chest, until he suddenly locks his wrists and twists Sebastian off his lap. He gets quickly away from under him, manhandling Sebastian on his back on the seat, hands pinned down on the padding both sides of his head.

If Sebastian has to learn how to lose, this is a battle where it doesn’t feel bad at all.

A good place to start learning.

*** fin ***

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> All feedback cherished and highly appreciated. I'm [caixxa](https://caixxa.tumblr.com) and [ badhockeymom](https://badhockeymom.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


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